Hamish
by DannyPhantomOfTheAvatar
Summary: Sherlock reflects on Hamish's qualities and how John ties into the child.


The rain from the night before left the grass mildly wet. The water was seeping through Sherlock's jacket as he sat on it. He was faintly aware of the cool hard stone on his back as he leaned back, but dismissed it. His face was tilted upward, welcoming the bright midday sun to his paler than usual skin. And like any other moment, he was in deep thought.

"Tomorrow is Hamish's birthday." He said aloud, very monotone. It was almost controversial on how his words could be taken.

Again, Sherlock was aware of John fading into his view, and watched him sit cross legged in front of himself. The doctor smiled, then opened his mouth wide to say something, but Sherlock was quicker. "I know, I know. He's growing up, he's a kid. But it is hard to watch him do this to me. Next thing I know he's going to move out, get married, have his own children..." His hand went to dishevel his hair.

Sherlock looked to his husband. His cropped hair, the sweater he pulled over his head that morning, the shoes he barely had time to tie when... "John. He looks like you. And I know you'll disagree, but here me out." John is completely silent as he waits for Sherlock to continue, leaning forward and setting a reassuring hand on Sherlock's knee.

The detective breathes. "Behind the pale skin, curly dark hair, higher than average IQ, social disorder... Behind it all, Hamish has your heart, your leading attitude, your healing hands, and your-" His voice cracks and he hides it with clearing his throat. "Your smile." John inaudibly sighs and removes his hand from his husbands knee.

"I was watching him the other day. In his room he was praying. And being myself, I don't believe in a higher power such as a God, but I wanted to see what Hamish thought. His hands were together, kneeling by his bed, and he prayed. And prayed. I still wonder how long he had been doing it before I arrived. But many minutes passed before I realized what he was saying."

John gave Sherlock a confused look, his eyes saying it all. Sherlock conintued on, "He was saying something along the lines of, 'Dear god, give him the strength you've given me. I love him more than I can say. And I love you, God.' And John, I had my eyes open for the first time in awhile. I understand that Hamish isn't this fragile glass case I need to polish and keep in bubble wrap. Hamish is stronger than steel. Stronger than me at times. He resembles you in that way."

Sherlock began twiddling his thumbs, feeling the burn of the sun now. "He gets out of school soon." He chimes. And almost immediately Sherlock is rewarded with a saddened look from his partner. "I can't stay here forever, John. Hamish needs me." The detective takes a long breath of fresh air before straining forward, working himself up from the green, dewey grass. And his hand goes out for John's, but John doesn't take it. Or he can't.

Sherlock finally stands up straight, hands on his back to align his sore muscles. He has been sitting for quite a few hours, now. His eyes take a quick scan of the trees, noticing how the shadows have shifted a degree since he arrived, and then to John who was still sitting cross legged. "John, please." He pleads with him, wishing he'd just get up so they could pick Hamish up. They needed to pick up a birthday cake fit for an eight year old after all. But John just shakes his head.

"Please." Sherlock says a bit more pierced.

John smiles, looking down at the ground in front of him. Sherlock kneels down again, trying to gain John's attention. "John?" He questions. And a wave of emotions that don't know how to filter through the sociopaths mind just flood in. "Do you believe in God? Please, for my sake, tell me you believe in God." It's desperation, he knows it.

John licks his lips, finding his gaze look to his husband, burning a hole through the man. And Sherlock is literally pushed back by that look, and falls back to his original spot on the grass. His back hits the rock again and Sherlock whimpers out a reply not even he himself can decipher. Sherlock hisses out a curse, and pauses.

He regains what normalcy he had while looking to the sky. Letting the sun beat down. Then he rises to his knees.

"I wish you could make it to his birthday. Hamish would have loved for you to show his friends your old military uniform. He's proud he had a dad like you." Sherlock shifts, turning around on his knees then sits back on them. "We're proud of you."

He bows his head, locks of curls falling forward, "I love you." He reaches his hand delicately to the headstone, letting his nails scrap down the marble before looking at it directly.

_John Hamish Watson_

_Beloved husband, father, doctor, and friend_

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**Author's Note: Inspiration from a movie. Also, I am taking prompts if you'd like to send me one. We can discuss it. Also Also, I love you sweets. **


End file.
